


With One Stone

by Artifiction



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:07:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25874113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artifiction/pseuds/Artifiction
Summary: Wherein Alanna hates meetings, Jon wants mountains, and the Dominion Jewel has a mind of its own.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	With One Stone

**Author's Note:**

> The border with Scanra expands between the maps in Alanna's books and Kel's. This story tries to explain why.
> 
> Thanks to the Tamora Pierce discord for the inspiration.

The end of the Immortals War, such as it was, had brought a much darker curse to Tortall.  _ Treaty negotiations _ . Alanna had hoped against hope that if no other good had come of her trip to Carthak with Daine and the delegation, it would have at least convinced Jon that she was  _ not _ a diplomat. Unfortunately, it seemed Duke Gareth, Lord Martin, and even  _ Gary_, the  _ snake _ , had spoken well of how she'd comported herself, which was excuse enough for Jon to tangle her into the mess of negotiations that came in the wake of the collapse of Ozorne's coalition. Since she could take no vengeance on either the Duke or Lord Martin, she resolved to at least find some way to pay Gary back for the recommendation.  _ I could be doing something useful, curse it _ . There were still immortals to fight Or, she thought with a pang, she could be spending time with George. Jon hadn't bought any of the reasons she'd suggested for why the Baron of Pirate's Swoop might be wanted in Corus.  _ "I need him where he is, Alanna. The darkings cost us a lot of good agents." _ As if she didn't know that!

A mortal _month_ of time had dragged by slower than a midnight watch in August, most of it with her sitting silently at tables with ever-changing lists of nobles, statesmen, and advocates. She spent the time twiddling her thumbs, listening, and wishing a Stormwing would crash through a window just so she'd have something to _fight_. Unfortunately, the only Stormwings that appeared were Queen Barza and her consort. Alanna was certain that at least in _those_ meetings, she was the least miserable person in the room save for the two immortals: she'd devised a simple spell which blocked their stench from her nose completely.

Raoul had noticed, then begged for and received an amulet that did the same for him. If Jon had noticed, he hadn't asked, and Alanna got at least a  _ little _ satisfaction out of watching him try his royal best not to wince every time time their wings beat in the council chambers, fanning their stench across the room.

At least it seemed things were coming to a close. Matters with the Copper Isles and Carthak had been mostly settled. Emperor Kaddar had no love for the Carthaki Renegades, and was happy to let Tortall deal with them as harshly as they wished. The Copper Isles' had been simpler still. Not a single ship from their fleet had survived the dragons at Port Legann. When Jon's only demand was a settlement in gold and goods in exchange for peace, their Mad King's envoy had jumped on the opportunity, eager to secure a Tortallan promise not to send their mostly unscathed Navy to exact vengeance on unprotected shores. 

Scanra had proved more complicated. With its menagerie of clans, councils, and kings, forging any bargain was a nightmare. Duke Gareth had explained to her that Jon had chosen to deal with the easy factions first, to force the Scanrans to deal as well. As far as Alanna was concerned, it meant that unfortunate Carthaki and Copper Isles delegations had to sit through meetings that had nothing to do with their concerns, a pain she had all the sympathy in the  _ world _ for. 

The biggest challenge, of course, was not simply dozing off.

"— All the land west of Trebond—"

The name of her former fief roused her from what she would be _almost_ willing to swear on the Goddess was not a nap, into the middle of the sentence the king was winding his way through.

"—and all the land of the Grimhold Mountains, from the City of the Gods to the Emerald Ocean. " 

The outraged response of head of the Scanran delegation bordered on profanity, and told Alanna exactly what he'd just asked for. She blinked.  _ Jon, why do you want those mountains? The Scanrans barely even want those mountains. _ Whatever their ambassador was saying now, the stretch of stony peaks that reached from the ocean to the Gallan border was practically worthless in terms of land. Still, it was a  _ lot _ of land, and she couldn't see Scanra agreeing to give it up.

Sure enough, the talks devolved into the closest thing that diplomats came to shouting in short order, and then dissolved into a call to dinner. She meant to get herself seated with either Gary or his father, to ask what Jon was up to, but ended up instead between a drowsy Carthaki and the blonde princess the Copper Isles had sent them as a sign of good faith. Considering Alanna's experience with Copper Isles princesses, she didn't attempt to make conversation. For her part, the princess —Imogen? Imojane?— seemed content to eat in silence, regal and disdainful of both surroundings and circumstance. Their only conversation had been on the first day of the talks. The woman had  _ thanked _ her for killing Josaine, of all things.  _ Goddess save me from Rittevons. _

Without anyone to talk to, she'd reverted to watching the tables around her. Jon's demand for the Grimhold Mountains was on everybody's lips. The foreign delegations that  _ weren't _ Scanran looked tired and resigned to more negotiations. The Scanrans looked... constipated, Alanna supposed. It was clear that whatever fragile agreements had been hammered out between Tortall and Scanra were now so much dust in the wind. 

Alanna's eyes found Jon on the dais, and she studied him through narrowed eyes. He looked... well. Almost too well. The Jonathan of her youth would have been beaten down by all the talk and diplomacy, but he was the picture of health, and handsome as ever. Thayet, seated beside him, was practically glowing. The pair radiated confidence and power.  _ What are you playing at, Jon? _

Her spoon scraped the bottom of an empty bowl. She'd finished her soup without even noticing. Shaking her head, she got up, ready to head back to her quarters, when it suddenly occurred to her that she could just _ask_. She and Jon had not talked much of late except to argue, but dammit, was she his Champion or not? She rose from the table, whispering her apologies to the Carthaki and an unaffected princess, to go set an ambush for her king.

When Jon entered the small library that adjoined his chambers, he found Alanna lounging in his favorite armchair, studying a map of Tortall's northern border.

She rose and bowed as he entered, dropping the map onto the table by the chair. Jon looked at her and sighed, sinking into a seat opposite her, permitting her to sit down as well. "It was mentioning Trebond, wasn't it? I thought I saw you perk up, and now you're here."

Alanna gave him a look. "No." He was right, but Jon was smug enough without people telling him so. "It's your foolishness with the Grimhold Mountains. You're asking Scanra to give up a thousand square leagues of its soil. They'll never go for it, and while they drag their heels,  _ I _ have to suffer in your damned councils."

Jon's brows knitted. "I would've thought you'd be happy. I'm doing this for you. You love Trebond. Wouldn't you be happy to see it safe from Scanran raiders, no longer a border fief? Coram could turn those arrow slits into  _ proper _ windows, with a view on Tortallan mountains."

That was Jon's politician voice. Alanna didn't like it, and she  _ really _ didn't like him using it on her. 

"That's hogwash. You aren't throwing out negotiations for me, and you know perfectly well that Coram wouldn't take out those arrow slits even if Tortall was as vast as the Eastern Empire."

Jon snorted. "Maybe not." He paused. "Call it a royal whim, then. I want the mountains. I think they look pretty in the winter, all capped with snow."

Now he was playing the idiot. The politician  _ and _ the idiot, in one conversation? Her lips pursed, and her fingers began to tap sharply on the table, working down the map. 

"Jon. Why is this so important to you? You aren't doing this to protect Trebond. Trebond can take it. Trebond has taken it for a century. And you  _ certainly _ aren't doing this for pretty mountains, because the Grimhold Mountains are about as pretty as a Stormwing's manparts."

It should have gotten a laugh from Jon. Instead, something about him seemed to change. He was silent for a long moment, then held up a finger. "Alanna, what would happen if tomorrow, Emperor Kaddar decided that he was tired of Tortallans, and sailed a Carthaki fleet across the Great Inland sea to land on the southern tip of Tortall?"

Alanna snorted. "He'd have a lovely time getting his sandled soldiers up the Southern Wall. Those cliffs are  _ shale _ . Faster to order them to fall on their swords."

Jon held up a second finger. "What if Tusaine took the Drell River Valley?"

Alanna's body went rigid. "We'd throw them back across the river _so_ _fast_ —" _He's baiting me!_ With an effort, she sank back into her seat, eyes narrowing at her king. "With those forts Roald built and you finished? They wouldn't make it a league. You saw to that." 

Jon raised a third finger. "And what if a Scanran army appeared at our border along the Grimhold Mountains, and began to march down the Great Road North towards Corus?"

Alanna blinked. "Scanran  _ army _ ? Jonathan, it's  _ Scanra _ . Even for Ozorne's nonsense, they couldn't get enough swords pointed in the same direction to  _ march _ ." The idea of a band of Scanran clan-warriors marching in lockstep would give her the giggles if she didn't watch herself. "The Bloody Throne is a bloody joke, and their Councils are just an excuse to drink and fight."

She met his eyes, expecting him to share in her humor, and the laugh died on her lips. Blue eyes glittered back at her, but they didn't  _ look _ like Jonathan's eyes. 

"Indulge me, Champion. What. If." His voice was smooth, even. 

Alanna forced herself to consider the question. It was an excuse to break his gaze, glancing at the map on the table. She couldn't remember Jon ever looking at her like that. "Well." Her eyes traced the outline on the map. "If they got past the border fiefs, it's seven days ride of field, farm, forest to Corus. If we didn't know they were coming..." It was a disturbing image, to be sure. How quickly could Tortall muster an army to fight a  _ northern _ foe? She wasn't sure. And the Great Road North was a channel that lead directly to Corus. The image of an  _ army _ marching down it wasn't one that inspired giggles. She pursed her lips. "We'd rally north of Olau. Try to force them into the valleys. If we can't stop them immediately, at least make them divert west, or east." The image of Myles' orchards in flame, only a day's ride from Corus, rose unbidden and unbanishable in her mind.

She glanced up from her hands and met his gaze. Twin sapphires glinted back. Hard. Cold. Calculating. What was she seeing there that unsettled her so? His fingers spread into an open palm, and tilted, as if considering her words. 

"Perhaps at Olau. If we're lucky, and ready. And then they'd strike towards Port Caynn, or Naxen. We would lose _thousands_." His shoulders should have hunched at that thought. She _knew_ Jon, _knew_ how he reacted. They _should have_. But they didn't. He could have been carved of stone. Only his lips moved. "If we aren't lucky, we could lose the realm. Lose everything."

She realized, then, what was wrong with his eyes. They were blue, but not _his_ blue. Not Roald's. Not even Roger's. She'd seen that shade of light in a snowy pass in the Roof of the World, and seen it blazing in Jon's hand at his coronation as the realm tore itself to pieces through the hatred of the long-dead Duke. The Dominion Jewel shone behind his eyes, and its light was colder than even Chitral. 

"I will not lose Tortall to Scanran warlords. Not to Tusaine. Not to Carthak. Not to Rittevon kings, not to Gallan generals. I will _not_." His voice was iron. "As long as the Grimhold Mountains are in Scanran hands, a Scanran force _can_ appear from those miserable peaks and strike our heartland. But if the mountains are ours, if we make a new border at the Vassa..." He shook his head. "Never." 

A new border at the _Vassa?_ If the Scanrans balked at the Tortallans taking the mountains, they were going to riot at that proposal. Leagues of untamed forest lay between the Grimholds and the Vassa. She had no idea what to say. For a long minute, silence stretched between them.

Finally, Alanna broke it. "King Jasson's statue will dance a jig all the way up Palace Way."

Jon laughed, and the fist of fear that had clamped around Alanna's heart loosened. When she met his eyes, they were the right shade of blue again. Relief washed through her. Maybe she was just imagining things. "How in the world are you going to get them to agree to move the border that far north, Jon? "

He shrugged. "I'll make it work, Alanna. I have to. For the realm." The word 'realm' sounded differently on his lips this time. It was a place, a real place, a place Jon cared about more than he care about anything. 

The room felt warmer. She gave him a wry smile. "I know you do, Jon." 


End file.
